


and there's a storm you're starting now

by grattiss12



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurricane, M/M, Sad, ashton and calum are only kind of mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:17:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grattiss12/pseuds/grattiss12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where michael's afraid of staying but luke feels like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and there's a storm you're starting now

Michael is spinning when he turns eighteen; the teacup ride makes him feel like a blur of colour and he tilts his head back to watch the stars and the carnival lights mix together in the dark sky. There’s another boys leg pressed up against his thigh and an arm ghosting around his shoulders, and Michael wishes he could remember his name. The letters sit on the tip of his tongue, but he’s never been very good with words unless their sprawled across the expanse of another boys skin. He loves the burn of a tattoo needle pressed against his arm, but not nearly as much as the burn of someone’s eyes on his back. The boy whispers in his ear to ask if he wants to spin faster and Michael pretends his laugh is a good enough answer.

Michael goes home with a nameless boy and dyes his hair the colour of pink cotton candy. He doesn’t stop spinning.

***

Michael is sitting on the roof of a beat up car in a junkyard when he meets blue eyes. He’s the kind of pretty you’re afraid to look at for too long but Michael’s never been afraid of a challenge. Michael smiles his nicest smile as his friends introduce themselves, their names blur past him until it’s blue eyes’ turn.

Michael spends the next hour rolling the boys name off his tongue, trying to commit it to memory; _Luke, Luke, Luke_ ; it’s pretty like him; he blushes when Michael tells him so.

_Do you wanna go somewhere?_ He’s not sure who whispers it, but Luke and him end up sitting in a dusty, old, powder pink convertible with Luke’s hand on Michael’s knee. Michael thinks it feels a little like heaven and he leans his head against the seat, watching Luke through hooded eyes. His hair is golden in the afternoon light, and his arm is stretched along the windowsill; he’s talking about his favourite band and Michael is smiling because it’s his favourite band too, and Luke’s eyes are making Michael want to dye his hair the same shade of blue.

Michael leans in first, and Luke’s hand travels from his knee up to the back of his head and then their kissing, and he wants to laugh because Luke is pretty and gentle, and Michael may be something to look at, but he’s never been praised for his kindness. He’s been spinning his entire life and he’s not even sure he wants to get off this ride; not until his heart is sitting in his throat. He doubts even pretty blue-eyed boys with their hearts on their sleeves can stop his from spilling out onto the pavement.

Luke kisses like the world will never end; like fires don’t burn down forests, and tsunami’s don’t destroy homes; he kisses like he’s never heard of hurricanes, and Michael wants to tell him that he’s wrong. Hurricanes are just around every corner and sometimes they look like teenage boys with cotton candy hair and sugar sweet smiles; he’ll notice when the rain comes.

Luke pulls him in deeper, and Michael smiles against his lips; maybe it’s better to leave the house thinking sunshine than wait for the weather forecast; Luke seems like an optimist.

***

They drive too far from home and Michael drinks too much to see the blurry road signs. He softens with the liquor in his system, he changes into something more pliable and Luke is holding his hand. One of Luke’s friends says something about a motel, and Michael tears his lips away from Luke’s neck long enough to nod in their direction. Luke’s hand feels tighter on his hip, and Michael knows reluctance when he feels it.

_Come on baby, don’t you wanna stay?_ Michael’s eyes are green and pretty and he knows it; all the boys on his street knew it before he turned seventeen, and now Luke knows it too. Michael watches him pull his lip ring between his teeth and _god he hopes he stays_.

***

Luke’s thumbs are pressing Michael into the wall by his hipbones; there’s a doorknob digging into his back, and he runs his lips and teeth along Luke’s collarbones despite the bruise forming on his spine. Michael feels dizzy and warm; Luke’s hands travel up his sides and into his cotton candy hair and it’s a clash of teeth and lips. Michael pulls Luke’s lip ring in between his teeth and tastes the harsh bite of metal; lets it settle on his tongue. He wonders if this is what eighteen is supposed to feel like; if tender spines and soft fingertips are what being this young is all about.

Michael’s back is pressing into the bed now and Luke hovers over him, looking like the sunrises Michael used to watch from his bedroom window. He reaches his hands up to run his fingertips along Luke’s shoulders, tries to absorb some of his warmth, to soak in some of his dripping sunlight. Maybe Luke’s bright is big enough to cancel out all of Michael’s dark, and Michael is still not sure whether or not that is a good thing.

The motel bed is big and lumpy, and Michael doesn’t want to think about how lonely this room must look when it’s empty. He wonders if Luke thinks he’s empty, if that’s why he’s here, pressing kisses into his collarbones and whispering kindness into his skin. He isn’t empty though, he knows what loneliness tastes like and Luke’s mouth comes nowhere close. Michael wants to tell Luke that he knows the difference between the taste of lonely and the taste of heartache but his mouth doesn’t get the time.

The room is spinning.

***

The green numbers on the flashing clock screen say 6:22 when Michael carefully lifts himself off of Luke’s chest and tiptoes through the room. The curtains are closed tight and the carpet feels soft against his bare feet and Michael feels sick when he tries to tug his shirt over his head. Luke is sleeping still, all gangly limbs and blonde hair; the blankets are wrapped around him and Michael wants to take off his shoes and climb back in, wants to fit himself into Luke’s side and let himself stay.

_Who are you running from baby?_ a boy once asked him when he tried to slip out in the morning. He didn’t know what to tell him.

Michael hasn’t been home in a long time, but Luke’s heart beating in his chest sounds about the same, he tastes a bit like peppermint and it reminds Michael of christmas, and his hands are soft like the quilt on the bed in the house he grew up in. Maybe belonging to someone doesn’t have to mean not belonging to yourself. Maybe giving yourself to someone is less like sacrifice and more like coming home.

Michael slides his shoes off and slips back into the bed, letting Luke’s arms pull them back together. He can hear the rain hitting the concrete outside and the sound seems to match the pace of Michael’s heartbeats.

***

Later that day Michael will wake up and Luke will smile at him like he’s the sun. Michael will dye his hair blue and let Luke hold his hand in the daylight. Maybe one day the world will stop spinning long enough for Michael to get off the ride, and maybe Luke will help him when he’s dizzy.

Michael learns two things when he turns eighteen; hurricanes are not all destruction, and sometimes home is where you make it.

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of bad and rushed but muke makes me feel things man. 
> 
> (also Halsey's song Hurricane is beautiful, if u haven't heard it already go listen)


End file.
